that was low

To whoever stole my 40-year-old, rickety, broken bicycle: you are a big, big jerk. I really can't believe someone crept into the small alley behind my apartment, broke my lock and stole, STOLE! the bicycle that my mom use to ride around on when she lived on Nun's Island, that I remember sitting on the back of when I was a toddler, the bike that became more than just a means of transportation, but a family heirloom...
Ok, maybe the heirloom thing is going a little far.
But that makes me no less upset about this.
I love antiques, and that one was one of a kind.

If you see this bike, chances are it's mine...because no one else would have kept it this long!